


Truth Will Out

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dream Sex, F/M, Force Ghost Luke Skywalker, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Sexual Frustration, That's Not How The Force Works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: ‘I don’t need you to teach me anything,’ Kylo tells Luke's ghost. ‘I need you to leave.’He's wrong.





	Truth Will Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kurage_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurage_hime/gifts).



Kylo is sprawled comfortably in the desk chair of his private office, working out the day’s stresses with a firm, brisk hand on his cock, when he feels the Force ripple in a way that’s become exhaustingly familiar these last few months.

‘Sorry to barge in,’ says Luke’s ghost, in a mild, distinctly un-sorry tone.

‘Please go away.’ Kylo registers the _please_ only after it’s left his mouth, but it’s not like he has anything to lose: he’s tried ignoring the ghost, attacking it, shouting at it, meditating it away. Pleading with it is his last untried avenue. ‘This really isn’t a good time.’

‘I can see that.’ With the shamelessness of a man too dead to fear social consequence, Luke looks appraisingly at his cock. ‘Do you always jerk off with a death grip like that? It can’t be good for you. It's turning purple.’

In his various visits back from the grave, Luke has had a lot of feedback to share with Kylo: on his leadership practices, his training regimen, his relationships with his officers. He never thought his masturbation habits would become a topic of similar scrutiny. ‘How I jerk off,’ he says through gritted teeth, ‘is none of your business.’

'And yet you're doing it in front of me.'

'Only because you-'

‘Someone ought to have shown you how to do it nicely,’ interrupts Luke, unperturbed. ‘But of course, it’s difficult to bring up things like that when you’re alive. All that stigma and taboo and human awkwardness. It seems a bit silly, looking back at it now. The Force doesn’t care at all about who does what with which genital organ.’

Kylo pulls his trousers back up his thighs and tucks his cock away. It throbs complaint, but the alternative – to call Luke’s bluff, to carry on as he was and make a defiant show of it – is apparently the kind of thing that’s easier achieved in fantasy than real life. Withdrawing into his well-used shell of disappointment, Kylo doesn’t allow himself a moment’s reflection on how Luke’s ghostly pupils flare as they drink in their last, retreating sight of his body.

Even if Luke refuses to grasp it, some things are better not looked at too closely.

* * *

It’s probably the pent-up sexual frustration that makes him more vulnerable than usual to the bond. When night comes, and he closes his eyes in the quiet dark of his bedroom, he sees _her_ before he has any awareness of having crossed over from waking into dream.

They see each other now and then, these days, but never with the clarity their link used to have before she severed it on Crait. When she appears to him now, she appears in twilight hours, and her presence has a shimmering sense of unreality.

She’s already ahead of him this time, fingers buried deep inside herself while her free hand rubs fast, urgent circles on her clit. He envies her the steady nerves that failed him so completely with Luke earlier today: she doesn’t stop what she’s doing when she sees him. Doesn't acknowledge him in any way, might not have noticed his presence at all but for the deep, dark flush that spreads  down her neck and decolletage to mottle the pale round breasts exposed by her open tunic.

And because it’s a dream, or an apparition, or whatever – because it’s not real, not in a way that can actually hurt him – Kylo reaches out to cup one of those breasts. It’s soft and plump in his hand, perfectly smooth, with a dusky little nipple that hardens beautifully when he pinches it between thumb and forefinger. He may be asleep, but his cock is awake and straining.

‘I’m imagining this,’ Rey says, apparently for her own benefit, as she’s not making eye contact. But she hasn’t pushed him away, and she makes a breathy sound when he lowers his head and replaces the touch of his hand with his tongue. ‘Just a–’ His teeth catch her nipple, gently, and she breaks off with a gasp and then pretends she didn’t. ‘Just a dream.’

Unseen, but loud and clear in the vibrations of her body, her hand picks up speed.

‘Do you always work yourself that hard?’ The words spill unbidden from Kylo’s mouth, muffled and breathy against her skin. ‘It can’t be good for you.’

‘No one's ever shown me how to do it nicely,’ says Rey.

This is how he knows it’s not real. She has no way of knowing those words, that answer – unless Luke has visited _her_ as well, in which case Kylo would strongly prefer to live in ignorance. But the echo of earlier sets him on edge. His teeth scrape, far less gently this time, and Rey makes a choked sound and arches her back and –

And he’s awake, in his own bed, alone and breathing hard. His sheets are sticky in a way they haven’t been since he was fourteen or fifteen years old.

* * *

‘You always were an irresistible young man, you know. I never told you that when I was alive.’

Luke’s ghost is back. They’re in the command room, alone, while Kylo pretends to pore over a holomap of his fleet’s positions. His mind has been elsewhere. His pulse picks up speed at the sound of Luke’s voice, but the agitated blood in his veins has no idea exactly where to go. His face? Elsewhere? It’s too complicated. He doesn’t want Luke to be here. Doesn’t want any more apparitions.

‘Go away,’ he says. Simple. Cutting. Not at all childishly whiny.

‘I wanted you, Ben. I knew it was wrong and the guilt consumed me. I’m sorry. When I came into your room that night–’

‘I don’t,’ says Kylo, teeth clenched, ‘want to talk about it.’

‘Alright, then.’ Luke sounds disappointed – and amused. ‘But I’m sorry for interrupting you earlier. You seem so wound up now. Are you quite sure you wouldn’t like my help?’

‘You visited her,’ says Kylo.

The abrupt change of topic fails to ruffle Luke. He doesn’t lose his calm, mild manner, even for an instant. ‘She dreams about me,’ he says. ‘Like you do.’

‘I don’t–’

‘She’s been dreaming about one or both of us every night for months – I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. But you try not to think about her, don’t you? You want her so much that you’re afraid, once you let the thoughts in, they’ll overwhelm you completely. I can sympathise with that.’

The hint can’t fail to find its mark, no matter how much Kylo would like to dodge it. He closes his eyes. Breathes, and opens them again. ‘Have you come back from beyond the grave _just_ to pester me about your creepy uncle fantasies? Or is there some other reason you’re still here?’

Still, that calm voice doesn’t falter. ‘I’m not pestering. I’m offering. Penance, if you will.’

Kylo looks up from the holomap. He’d rather not, but his head moves of its own accord.

‘I’ll get down on my knees,’ Luke says. ‘If that’s what you want. If it would make you feel better about everything that’s happened between us.’ When Kylo doesn’t answer, he follows the words with action, stepping forward and sinking down onto his knees a breathless half-foot from where Kylo stands.

The blood has made up its mind where to go now.

‘Why?’ Kylo’s throat is tight, and the word comes out strained. It doesn't make sense. He's half convinced that this is another dream, that he's fallen asleep in front of the holomap and his tangled subconscious is having its way with the rest of him.

Luke’s smile turns rueful. ‘Because,’ he says, ‘I’m not entirely sure I’m a real Force ghost. I _feel_ like myself, but only when either you or Rey is thinking about me. The rest is a blur. It seems I’m being held back by whatever unresolved feelings are keeping you two awake. So we might as well get it out of our systems. Like I said. The Force doesn’t care who does what with which organ, but it does care about unspoken truths. And I left so many of those behind me.’

Kneeling like this, he’s exactly at Kylo’s waist height. He moistens his lips, gazing up, and maybe he’s real or maybe he’s not but Kylo already knows how this ends. He’s never been good at saying no to his darker impulses. Never seen the value in trying.

Luke’s hair feels real when he knots his hands in it. His breath feels real. His tongue feels real. The back of his throat feels real, and so do the involuntary spasms as Kylo fucks his mouth with all the speed and force of so many years of pent-up hatred. It’s brutal and it’s messy but Luke takes it all, still radiating calm contentment and a smugness that only fuels Kylo’s lust-rage.

Through the haze of milky red in the corners of his vision, he sees movement. She’s here. Rey is here. Shimmering, unreal – dreaming again, perhaps, watching the two of them with her eyes wide and her mouth askew. He thinks about what Luke said, that she’s been dreaming of the two of them every night, and the look on her face now is a perfect echo of everything that fact implied. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move to join them, doesn’t touch herself. Just watches like she’s physically incapable of tearing herself away.

Kylo locks eyes with her directly as he fucks Luke’s mouth. Holds her gaze as he moves without thought or reason. The pressure builds fast, and if he lets his eyes close he'll lose sight of Rey - won't. Can't. Overcome, gasping, he wrenches Luke’s head back and spills all over his face.

Luke just smiles. Stays on his knees.

‘There,’ he says, and licks a drop of come off his upper lip. The sight is obscene, and Kylo feels sick and spent and dizzy all at once. ‘Do you feel better now? Once you’ve recovered a little, I’d _really_ like to teach you how to do that more gently. You handle yourself like a weapon, it’s ridiculous. I don’t think Rey will thank you for it, if you two do manage to sort yourselves out.’

Kylo’s eyes dart back to the edge of the room, where Rey’s dream-apparition was watching. She’s gone. He could have imagined her. This could all be a fever dream.

‘I don’t need you to teach me anything,’ says Kylo, the words issuing from his mouth without any intention on his part of speaking them. ‘I need you to leave.’

‘Oh, my dear boy,’ says Luke. ‘You have no idea how wrong you are.’

But then he’s gone too, and Kylo is alone in the command room, clasping his softening cock in his hand and feeling the thin film of sweat prickle and dry on his skin.


End file.
